The Artist's Return
by ThunderRaptor
Summary: When the red, blue, and yellow roses have wilted away, who will take their place? Warning: Character Death One-shot


Disclaimer: I do not own Ib or anything else in the game. They belong to their respective owner.

* * *

Garry coughed hoarsely and fell to his knees, giving a loud groan in agony. Ib cried out in sight of her friend in sudden pain.

"Garry!" she rushed forward and caught him, though making sure her already wilted rose wasn't damaged any further.

"Thanks Ib." he said said gratefully. He slowly laid against the wall with her support and grabbed his chest in pain.

"Your welcome Garry." she replied with a small smile. Slowly, Garry looked at the small red-eyed girl kneeling next to him, grasping his jacket as if to reassure him somehow.

"Ib...um..." Garry began to say. He could feel tears forming both of their eyes. "I'm sorry, but...could you go ahead? I'm...uh...I'm sorry. I really don't know what to say." Ib clutched his hand tightly, but remained silent as she held back tears.

"I don't want to lie to you...but...I don't want to tell the truth either."

"You don't need to Garry." she said softly. He smiled at her weakly, yet reassuringly.

"If you need help..." he said softly, "...I'll come running. Just...go on ahead." Garry brought Ib's tiny hand to his face and kissed it before letting go and leaning his head against the wall for support. She stood up and looked down the corridor.

"Don't worry, I'll get your rose back." Ib said to him with quiet hopefulness and ran as fast as she could down the hall. Garry watched her until she had vanished up the stairs and drooped his head forward, wincing again in pain as another gash appeared on his body.

Ib ran as fasts she could, only thinking about saving Garry's rose. She reached the stairs and began the ascent. Then she heard it: the eerily familiar child's voice. She froze.

"He loves me...he loves me not..." Mary said with a hint of glee in her voice. "He loves me...he loves me not." Ib felt her blood run cold at the sound of the words. It almost sounded as if she was having fun killing Ib's friend. Mary had to be stopped. Without further hesitation, Ib continued to dash up the stairs, wincing each time she heard Mary call out as she plucked a petal. She finally reached the top only to find it was too late.

"He loves me." Mary said finally as Ib's foot touched the last step. A small blue petal fell to the ground from the blonde's hand, joining the nine others already on the ground. Ib looked at the rose stem in Mary's hand...it was plucked clean. Mary squealed with glee and threw the rose stem in the air behind her.

"Yaaaay!" She cried, skipping and giggling happily out of the room. She did not take notice of Ib slowly walking to the wilted and torn rose stem she had thrown. By the time Ib had reached the wilted remains, Mary was gone, most likely having fled back to the Sketchbook.

Ib did not follow her, but rather, made no sound as she stared at the wilted stem for what seemed to be the longest time. Stooping down to the stem, she cradled it in her hands; her face emotionless. And then...she snapped. Dropping down to the floor, she let out all her tears and emotions that she had somehow restrained through the nightmarish gallery.

"Garry!" she cried bitterly, "Why? Why did you give her your rose?!" She gripped the rose stem, the thorns cutting her palm. She cried for what felt like the longest time, sobbing until her tears ran dry. After what felt like an eternity, Ib eventually managed to compose herself and stand up.

"I must be strong," she said to herself, "for Garry." She then turned around to walk back, when she noticed another staircase ,next to the one she had come up, that was blocked by yellow flowers with throned vines. "Odd." she thought and stretched out to touch them when she stopped. Ib reached in her pocket and wrapped her fingers around her flimsy rose, a single petal clinging for life. "Better not risk it."

Slowly, she descended back down the stairs from which she came; every step echoed through the silent hall as she moved back to where Garry was lying. She half -heartedly hoped that he would come back to her, hug her and comfort her. Ib hoped that they would get out together. She snapped back to reality upon reaching his unmoving form.

Garry had tried to crawl, but only made it as far as the other wall before collapsing. His face looked sad, yet he had a faint smile on his face. He wasn't moving, though it almost looked as if he was sleeping.

"Yes, that's it he's just sleeping." Ib said almost hysterically, yet she new very well why he lay motionless. Her eyes began to water again, but she restrained herself. She didn't want Garry to see her like this. She reached for his coat to dry her eyes with when something fell, making a small clinking noise. She looked up. His silver lighter had fallen from his pocket and was now lying on the floor. Picking it up, she turned it over, carefully examining it. Suddenly, she felt bitterness and anger swell within her. How could Mary do this to him, he was a kind person who only wanted to help. She clenched the lighter, her knuckles turning white as she did so. Then she remembered the crudely drawn vines blocking the stairs...what if? Standing up, Ib looked at Gary one last time. His kind features were blocked by his ridiculously large bangs as they hung forward. Ib could only make out his right eye.

"I'll get back at Mary for what she did," Ib said to the sleeping man, "I promise." Without further hesitation, she ran back down the corridor. Various emotions swam in her eyes, ranging from anger, to fear, to sadness. She couldn't think straight now and stumbled forward as she climbed up the staircase, much slower than the previous time.

When she finally reached the top, Ib once again stood in front of the thorn blocked staircase. She tried to ignore the ten blue petals that littered the floor, but she couldn't help but glance at them before looking back at the thorns. She opened the lighter and spun the wheel. At first, nothing happened. Ib spun it a few more times, growing increasingly frustrated at each failure. Finally, it lit with a small burst of flame. Ib stared at the glowing lighter with faint determination.

"For Garry." she breathed and placed the flame against the vines. Instantaneously, the green tendrils ignited. Ib fell back with a start as the vines burned like a rapid inferno before quickly dying out. She slowly got back and stepped into the room.

* * *

Elsewhere in the False Gallery, a small blonde hair girl stopped skipping and humming happily. She could tell something was very wrong, very wrong. Mary tensed as she felt the protective barrier she had placed to guard her life force had been burned away. Suddenly, she felt something else; the presence of someone in her room: the presence of a girl. She squeezed the palette knife in her hand. She had been too careless and now there was no other choice.

"Ib." Mary spoke softly the first time, almost as a whisper to herself. Then, the voice of a furious monster came from the voice of the golden haired child, scaring away any resident of the fabricated world that was possibly in her way "IIIIIIIIIIIIIIB!"

* * *

Ib felt something as if something cold was on her shoulder as she entered the large room. She looked around carefully. The room appeared to be similar to the rest of the toy box, being drawn of crayon by a child. However, she could feel something important was in this room: something special to Mary. It took her half-way inside to see what it was. At the end of the room was an illuminated painting with a broken glass covering. In the painting was a bed of yellow roses with what looked to be an empty space where the glass had broken. "Could it be..?" Ib thought, completely stopping. The portait was surrounded by coloring books and creepy blue dolls. It could only be Mary's, she thought, her mind turning the information over in her hand. Did that mean when the painting was destroyed, Mary was as well? There was only one way to find out.

Ib began to take another step forward when she heard someone coming into the room. She turned around only to see the dark form of another little girl, of Mary. Her hair was a mess, similar to her dress, and shadowed her blue eyes, making her expression hard to read. Ib could only stutter at the sight of the palette knife in her hand.

"M...Mary?" she called out uncertainly, taking a slow backward step to the painting.

"Ib, what are you doing?" Mary asked in a cold, sharp voice.

"I...uh..." Ib tried to respond, but was cut off by Mary.

"Leave."

"What?"

"I said, LEAVE!" Mary yelled, pointing the pallet knife threateningly at Ib's chest. "NOW, NOW, NOOOOW!" She ran full speed at Ib. Ib fled as fast as she could to the other end of the room in hopes of reaching the painting in time. Within seconds, Ib finally stood in front of the painting, quickly opening the lighter and bringing it up to the painting. Ib spun the wheel for a spark. There was nothing. "Hurry, hurry, hurry!" she thought rapidly as she brought it down and spun it again once, twice, three times; each time Mary was a step closer. Suddenly on the fifth attempt, the spark lit the gas, making the small flame flicker to life.

"Yes!" she said and brought the lighter up once again. Suddenly, she hesitated at the last second when a thought came to her. "What if this didn't work?" she thought. The millisecond delay was all that Mary needed. The lighter's flame brushed against the canvas as Mary brought the knife down onto Ib's back.

The blank portrait of Mary was suddenly engulfed by flames from the small fire starting device. Mary began to scream in horror as she too was becoming consumed by fire. Ib dropped the lighter before she slowly stumbled backwards for a second, then falling forward. The girl's senses rapidly became blurred, although she could faintly hear the pained screams of Mary as she and her painting burned into ashes from roaring fire. She fell on the glass shards already on the floor, though she could hardly feel the sharp fragments as they cut her skin. The now petal-less rose tumbled from her pocket, falling into the small forming pool of blood and glass.

Blood began to trickle from Ib's mouth as her chest became still and her mind came to a halt. Her eyes remained open, although the crimson iris reflected no life back. Her brown hair spilled about her head, parts of it dirtied red by the blood leaking from her wound on her back. Hot cinders fell on her body, along with rose scented ashes of what was now Mary. The entire gallery seemed to fall silent as the fire rapidly died down. The only sounds that could be heard were the ticking of the clocks and the crackling of tinders.

Suddenly, the steady sound of footsteps could be heard through the Sketchbook. The footsteps continued slowly to the Plastic House. The door opened without any resistance. The owner walked inside, not bothering to close the door behind him. Simply stepped into the toy box, the owner began walking down on a set of invisible stairs. It was not long before he reached the bottom. The inhabitants of the box simply made way for the figure as he walked across the floor to the set of stairs the previous three had taken.

As the figure began to climb the stairs, a small blue doll came up to him and tugged at the persons leg, squeaking at him. The person looked down at the demonic looking doll, bent down and patted it on the head, nodding. It squeaked and scurried off, leaving the person looking back ahead. He continued to walk ahead up the stairs, eventually coming to the hallway at the top. As he looked down the hall, he glanced at the lonely, cloaked figure lying against the wall. He walked down to him, not changing his pace. When he finally reached the motionless figure, he could see the person was faintly smiling. The standing figure frowned.

"Why are smiling, my friend?" said the standing figure, shaking his head. "This is a very sad time, for my daughter and your friend have died tragically because of you." He frowned again at the still faintly smiling figure. "I guess you do not understand what you have done as you are unaware." There was still no response. The man shrugged and looked into the distance. "I do not blame you for that though, as I am at fault my self. If I had only been a better father, much of this would have never happened." The figure said this solemnly to himself.

"Still, I must take into account how I should make the best of this situation, the only one being of course taking you and your friend's place in the real world." The edge of his lips formed the ghost of a smile. "I hope you understand, my friend. Of course, I will pay my respects to her as well, but of course I must leave, otherwise someone else might take this opportunity. You must understand Garry." Only silence responded from Garry's sleeping form. "Thank you." said the standing figure apreciatively and turned to leave. However, he stopped and turned around to face Garry's body one last time. "Oh yes, and the dolls asked to play with you, I couldn't refuse of course...I hope you understand once again." And with that, he left the young man alone in the hall to sleep eternally.

The man continued to walk down the hall and soon turned up the stairs that led to his daughter's room. He regarded the blue petals that littered the floor, making sure to step on none of them. The man ahead went into the room, walking forward to the chaotic scene ahead of him. Despite now being in a slight hurry, he still did not change his pace. He soon came upon the ashes that were once Mary, his beautiful daughter. The scent of roses filled his nose, causing tears to well slightly in his eye.

"Mary, my beloved," he said wistfully, "Why couldn't you just have behaved?" He bent down, scooped up a handful of ashes. Very tenderly, he kissed them before blowing them away, scattering them though out the room. He stood back up and walked over the small girl lying on the glass shards. A small pool of blood was forming around her head, forming a gruesome halo. The man bent down once again and put his hand on her face, before slowly moving it down to close her eyelids. She looked at peace now and the man smiled grimly. "Ib...poor, sweet, little Ib." he said sadly, shaking his head. "I would feel terrible for sending you through all this, except there wasn't much choice. I needed the innocent hearts of a boy and girl; you and Garry's were the only ones the meet that criterium in a long time. I really wish there could have been some other way. Just know that I am truly sorry."

He reached over and grabbed the knife stuck in her back. Effortlessly, he pulled it out and tossed it to the side. However, instead of leaving, he once again reached forward for her dress. He felt the side of it and found what he was looking for. He put his hand into her pocket and pulled out a small pink key that he grasped firmly. The man stood up and turned away, not bothering to look back as the remains of three souls in the Fabricated world, that would lie untouched for the rest eternity.

As the man walked down the stairs to the False Gallery, he wondered if he should erase their existence. He shook his head at the notion; it would be cruel tribute to their sacrifice for him. He silently passed the entrance, moved swiftly up the stairs and stood in front of his giant mural. The lights flickered as the frame disappeared, making a portal for him to the true gallery.

"To freedom." said Weiss Gueterna silently and leaped into the painting.

* * *

In the gallery, a young woman looked at a painting in front of her with slight unease. It depicted a strange scene of a small red eyed girl and a tall young man tied to a large yellow rose by thorny vines and surrounded by darkness. They seemed to be in obvious pain as they were bleeding, but at the same time their faces showed content where they were.

"What an unsettling painting." the woman muttered to herself, noting the difference of it's style to the rest of Gueterna's work. She turned around to leave, only to bump into a man slightly older than herself with a beret, a black coat, and a grey long-sleeved collared shirt . "Oh, I'm so sorry sir." she said flustered.

"It's quite all right ma'am." he said in a good natured tone. He looked at the painting briefly and frowned. "What's this picture?" he asked. Confused, the woman looked and realised what he meant.

"Oh," she responded, "It's called 'Lost Hope'." The stranger shook his head at this. "What?"

"It is nothing, just that I think it should be called 'A New Beginning." He shrugged and continued staring at it.

"How come?"

"Because I think they are giving themselves up for something important."

"Whatever gives you that idea?"

"I am not really sure, but it's almost as if I myself owe them for something." The stranger stared for a bit longer before he shook his head again. "Look at me, taking up the time of a pretty lady such as yourself." The woman giggled slightly and extended her hand.

"I'm Adeline." The man extended his as well and shook.

"Weiss."

"Like the artist?"

"After the one and only."

"Say, would you mind giving me some other criticisms of some of the other works, 'Mr Guertena'?" Adeline said jokingly, sticking her elbow out. Weiss linked their arms and began walking with her, when he looked back at the painting of 'Lost Hope'.

"Thank you." he said breathed.

"Did you say something?" Adeline asked.

"No, nothing at all." Weiss responded almost wearily, before returning to his prior cheery mood. As the two walked away, a red-eyed woman quietly called out for her daughter, who was never to return home with her.

**A/N: Just a quick little idea that popped into my head one day, hope you enjoyed and leave a review if you like**


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